What's in a name?
by sharmini
Summary: She may have a majestic name, but she is still a servant. Does the the crowned prince of Camelot see her that way too?


The muses were in fine form this week, churning out this little story. I love Arthur/ Guinevere to bits. Here's my little take on it. It is set after '_Sweet Dream_' and before the final episode (I just love that little tender moment between Guinevere and Arthur in the infirmary...sigh…). Please review and let me know if I had done this correctly or otherwise.

I do not own _Merlin_. Still hoping to own the crowned prince of Camelot.

* * *

She was carrying a basket of the linen, freshly washed and dried from the riverbank, to be delivered to the King's chambers when the crowned prince of Camelot came down the same hallway she was walking. She swallowed, gripping the edges of the basket, willing herself not to say or do anything rash and forced her expression into one of bland neutrality. This was necessary, for the sight of the crowned prince either made her want to cry or kiss him senseless until either one of them fainted for the lack of air.

They approached each other on the hallway; she feigning indifference and he showing an unusual amount of interest on the ornate torch holders mounted unto the pillars of the hallway.

And then, he did it.

"Guinevere."

A knight's code of conduct states that he must show courtesy to any woman, of noble birth or otherwise. There was nothing wrong with him acknowledging her.

Except that it was.

Especially to her.

She only managed another step when she stopped and turned around. The crowned prince was already half a dozen paces from her.

"I really must insist that you stop addressing me as Guinevere, sire," she spoke loud enough for the prince to stop. He slowly turned around, surprised; perhaps both of her boldness in addressing him and of what she had actually said.

The prince tried to articulate some sort of reply, but all that he could manage was "What?"

She knew she was digging a hole for herself, but she cannot retract what she had said. Besides, the matter needed to be resolved immediately. Large doses of false hope can be detrimental to a girl's health.

"Everyone calls me _Gwen_, sire," she spoke slowly, trying not to look at the prince, lest she should happen to glance at his eyes and then inevitably loose herself in it. She was also trying to ignore the fact that he was now standing very close to her. He was frowning, trying to make sense of what she was saying. She took a reluctant step backwards, unwilling to let his physical presence overwhelm her.

It was a futile attempt even before she moved her feet, but at least she could say she tried to move away from the prince.

"You are not making any sense, Guinevere," he said, a small smile threatening to displace his somber expression.

"_Everyone_ calls me Gwen, sire," she repeated herself. "Perhaps, if you wish to address me, Gwen would suffice."

A perfectly arched eyebrow rose. Oh no, Gwen thought to herself. Wrong place to look; his eyebrows were in close proximity to his eyes. She tore her gaze from his eyes and to his ears. Yes, ears were safe. Eyes, lips, cheeks were dangerously alluring.

"And why would Gwen be sufficient, Guinevere?" he asked her, his tone almost taunting. "Your given name is Guinevere, is it not?"

If she had but looked a little further up from his earlobes, she could have seen the delightful twinkle in his eyes as he said this.

"It is, sire," she said.

"Then, I really do not see a problem in addressing you as Guinevere," he replied.

"But the way you say it..." the words stumbled out of Gwen's mouth even before she could think it through.

"I am sorry of I have offended you in any way, Guinevere," he quickly said, sounding concerned. "I did not…"

"You have not, sire," she interrupted and made the blunder of looking into his blue eyes, now locked unto hers in apprehension. Clearly, she had confused him, besides making a complete fool of herself.

"Then, what is wrong with me addressing you as Guinevere?" he asked, sounding curious.

It was now or never. She has to know that she is not completely comfortable with him addressing her as Guinevere. She is never fully comfortable when he is around her. It was like having to constantly deal with something that was out of her reach; which is what the crowned prince of Camelot is. They might have kissed on more than one occasion, but she knows now it has been brought on by sheer thoughtlessness and enchantment on his part. They….no, she has no claim that he had kissed her because that was what he really wanted to do.

"Guinevere is not the girl who had spent half the morning by the river, washing the royal linen. Coming from your mouth, Guinevere sounds so…noble. As if she worth the attention of a knight." As she spoke, she tore his gaze away from his, to avoid the inescapable sensation of drowning. "Everyone is fine with Gwen, sire."

The prince took a moment to ponder her words. "But I am not everyone, am I, Guinevere?" he asked.

His question prompted her to look at him. "No, you are Prince Arthur," she replied, her eyes on the floor.

Which is why she never saw the prince's movement as he reached out for her hand. "And you," he said, as he took her hands into his own battle-roughened one. "Are my queen, Guinevere. I do think I ever got the opportunity to tell you this…"

As he spoke the words, he brought her hand to his chest and placed on the Pendragon crest on his tunic, right above his heart. "Gwen, Guinevere or…buttermilk…Every beat of this heart is yours."

This time, when she looked into his eyes, she no longer felt as if she was drowning. She held her gaze steady, as he held her hand. The only reason, she realized now, why she had felt as if she was drowning all this while because she had been unsure of the emotions behind his blue eyes. It was not an altogether unpleasant experience, but the certainty she saw in the calmness of his gaze now felt a thousand times more gratifying. And the gravity of his words; she was not going to think of its implications. He had spoken from his heart. That alone was sufficient for her.

"Buttermilk, sire?" she asked, a small smile playing on her lips.

"My favourite pudding," the prince remarked, smiling.

"I am flattered, my lord," she said, trying to hold back her laughter. "It's not everyday I get compared to a sweet."

"You are many things, Guinevere," the prince said, as he touched the side her face. "But most of them are not what you believe to be true."

She did not have the time to be confused with the prince's remark, for he kissed her then, tenderly at first and then with a desperation that matched hers.

She must have died sometime during the morning, possibly drowned in the very river she was washing the royal linens. And, perhaps, somewhere in her short life, she must have done some kindness, for here she was, in Heaven. She had been given the opportunity to hear the crowned prince of Camelot call her his queen, give her a pudding nickname and now kiss her.

It was perfect. Twice she had kissed and twice it had been akin to soaring. It was no different now.

Too bad she was dead. But, it was worth it.

"Guinevere? Are you alright?"

Guinevere finally opened her eyes. She could feel the prince's grip on her hands and saw the look of concern in his eyes.

Still alive. Still being held by the prince. Looking at the floor again, she was horrified to see the linen basket lying forlornly in a corner, where the prince must kicked to when it dropped from her hand as they kissed. The royal sheets were soiled.

And still a servant girl.

"Guinevere…?"

The moment was gone. "I am fine. I just need to…um…" She picked up the basket and began stuffing the linen into it, not noticing that the prince had already got most of the work done for her. "Need to wash these."

"At the river?" he asked, looking as if he had something planned. She nodded and a devastating grin broke his features. "I'll…"

"Sire?"

Merlin's voice caused the both of them to take an almost conditioned, reflexive step away from each other. The prince looked as if he was disappointed, not to mention just little annoyed. She sighed, knowing that though it felt good while it lasted, there was not going to be anything permanent between Arthur and Gwen.

"Yes, Merlin?" the prince glared at his manservant.

"Throne Room, sire," a slightly out of breath Merlin said. He looked at her, but other than a small knowing smile, Merlin kept his peace. "Your father wants to see you. Immediately. I tried to stall as much as I could but…"

"Thank you, Merlin," Arthur said quickly. "Maybe you can go see Gaius about that…that thing you were talking about."

She smiled at Merlin's confusion, but bless the boy; he got the hint and left them, this time grinning as if he saw everything. He probably did.

And she had to do her job. "Sire," she said, curtsying slightly. She left because she could not look at the hurt in his eyes. Not when she has to deal with her own. She wondered if this is how it would be for the rest of her life; a cycle of hurt and Heaven. She was almost at the end of the hallway, when she heard him.

"Buttermilk."

She turned around and saw the prince smiling; his right hand on his chest. She did not see the golden crown on his head; she did not see the Pendragon coat of arms on the tapestry behind him. All she saw was Arthur, the man she loved more than her life.

She smiled, tears stinging her eyes, for it just too perfect and painful at the same time. She gave a nod in acknowledgement and walked away, knowing that she was not the only one in this predicament. As she left the castle for the river, she knew that that this could not be easy for him. The thought of Arthur brought a smile to her face again.

Gwen, Guinevere or Buttermilk. She knows now that Arthur loves her as much as she loved him.

--THE END--


End file.
